


after all is said and done, you're gonna be the lonely one

by diamantrouge



Series: Fuburyoary 2021 [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Dr. Nightshroud AU, Horror, M/M, This is where Fuburyo gets Dark, mild depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamantrouge/pseuds/diamantrouge
Summary: Dr. Truesdale has been running from two things: his own mistakes, and Dr. Nightshroud.
Relationships: Marufuji Ryou | Zane Truesdale/Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes
Series: Fuburyoary 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187735
Kudos: 3





	after all is said and done, you're gonna be the lonely one

**Author's Note:**

> YO! I've decided to join Fuburyoary 2021 with both art and fic, this is a combination of two prompts: "AU" and "Weapons". I love this AU very much and I'm so glad for the creator's presence in the fandom, it's been such a big inspiration!

Zane listens to the echoing footsteps on the old metal floor of the warehouse he managed to run to as adrenaline gave him enough strength to speed like he never had to in his usually quiet life at the lab.

His own heartbeat pounds in his ears and he begs his lungs to give him a break, hoping to slow his breath until it’s soundless as usual. It’s strange, now that he’s stopped enough to think; Dr. Rhodes used to complain that he was not keen on conversation, and now he couldn’t seem to stay quiet. Zane inhales sharply, his rear cold against the floor and his back aching against the stacks of boxes that might or might not shield him from whatever’s coming at him.

 _So it has come to this now, huh?_ He thinks to himself. He feels his own lips twitching as they twist in a hopeless smirk and his forearm throbs in pain, as if to remind him that the wound is very much still there.

He chokes back a laugh as he stares down at the dried up blood and the fresh trail dripping down to his still gloved hand. Because lab safety always comes first, of course, even when his life is on the line and he’s carrying a gun underneath his coat because Dr. Rhodes has become quite _difficult_ to deal with, as of late.

Must be the demon arm, Zane thinks. The demon arm that grabbed him with superhuman strength and left a nice souvenir on his forearm as he tried to wriggle out of the grip —a wound that cuts much deeper than intended, possibly, because Dr. Rhodes (or Dr. Nightshroud, if you will!) would never hurt his precious Dr. Truesdale.

It’s not the feelings that bother him, ultimately. Those, he can manage.

It’s whatever took a hold of his colleague, brain first and foremost, and turned him into whatever has been chasing him throughout the structure, fending off whatever (and whomever) came between them.

To add insult to injury, Dr. Nightshroud’s footsteps keep echoing in the maze of the underground warehouse —and thank God, truly, for his incredibly lacklustre sense of direction— ever-taunting, threatening to approach if he ever loses focus.

The wound throbs again and Zane has to bite the inside of his cheek, eyes rolling back as he stifles a groan. With trembling hands, he reaches for the inner pocket of his lab coat — it has to be there, he’s been carrying it around since the start of this tremendous mess.

His hand finds the hard surface of the flask and the knots at the apex of his stomach intighten enough for him to breathe a little easier.

Zane should feel more ashamed of drinking on the job, he knows that much. But it makes it easier to deal with whatever has been haunting his peripheral since the accident—and it’s hard to focus on computer screens and numbers anyway now.

The scent of whiskey is thick and burns his nostrils as he rotates the flask cap with shaky fingers, but it’s more than enough to keep him awake and alert. Like slingshot ammo, Zane's mind is thrown back to the first time he saw the arm and the glow in Dr.. Rhodes’ eyes – a bright blue, computer screen-like.

He tips the flask and grits his teeth, breathing hard through the nostrils as the amber liquid hits the wound, burning as if cauterising it. The pain is a sharp reminder that the hunt is on, and that his chances of turning out to be nothing more than prey are higher than he’d like to admit.

The hint of a yelp escapes his lips as the burn of the alcohol he doused his wound in ripples across his forearm like liquid fire. Zane gathers his remaining strength to tear a strip from the hem of his already ruined lab coat.

It’s almost amusing how he would’ve absolutely flipped, were this to have happened a month ago. When the most that could have happened would have been Dr. Rhodes accidentally setting fire to the tips of his hair because he would—textually—“get distracted by how handsome Dr. Truesdale looks while lost in thought”.

And it wasn’t as if those compliments didn’t make him question a thing or two, either…

Zane is brought back to the sheer reality of the moment as he finishes wrapping the torn cloth around the wound, tight enough to hurt but not enough to block his blood from circulating, when the steps come to a halt and he hears faint whistling.

His heart jumps in his throat.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the shape of the gun pressed against his chest, maybe it’s the fact that Dr. Rhodes’ sense of humour never quite left him—and that had been more of a curse than a relief—and that Zane's heart is threatening to jump out of his body, but the tune he faintly hears has him fighting the urge to laugh.

Of course, it has to be that song.

It’s almost disheartening, Zane thinks, to be one foot into the grave and possibly meet his end in a way that sounds _a lot_ like those badly scripted horror movies he’s been secretly binge-watching on sleepless nights. Nights that tended to happen a lot, recently. And perhaps, horror wasn’t a great genre choice either, all things considered.

«Come on, Zaney», Dr. Nightshroud’s voice sends chills rolling down his spine, the saccharine tone in stark contrast with the dried blood on his claws, his coat and everything in sight. The clangour that follows makes Zane’s already heavy heart skip yet another beat. He can almost see him, dragging his claws on the metal bars of a banister, the sound echoing in the wide corridors.

«You know I’d never treat you poorly now, would I? I love you so much! », he keeps taunting, sickly sweet. It only takes a few moments of terror-filled silence for him to chuckle and get back at the tune.

Doctor Nightshroud faintly hums the words as his steps grow louder on the metal floor.

Zane slides a hand on the side of the coat where the holster rests against his shirt. The harness has felt suffocating for a while, and he can’t tell whether it’s his imagination betraying him or if he’s really been that careless.

His fingers skim on the grip, as if pondering whether it’s the right choice or not. Doctor Truesdale is far from trained—or naturally versed, really—in firearm use, but this is different.

Common sense doesn’t apply. Because urban legends hold no scientific ground and yet he trusts the silver bullets in the gun with his life.

He can feel his own pulse reverberating in his throat, his mouth dry and his lips glued together as he breathes through his nose. The steps draw closer.

He stares at the darkness wide-eyed. Had he not heard the footsteps coming from behind him, he could swear Dr. Nightshroud would be ready to jump at him from the pitch-black darkness.

Silly, isn’t it? How he’s come to fear Dr. Rhodes, of all people.

Sometimes, Zane wonders if it’s punishment of some sort. For the (polite, he thinks) rejection of the handwritten letter with the tacky heart-shaped sticker, for instance; he bites down on his lip at the thought.

What a fool he was, believing he could take some time to think about it.

The footsteps stop. The humming, however, doesn’t.

He can feel Dr. Nightshroud’s presence beyond the boxes.

Zane can tell he’s looming over the hideout, waiting for him to come out to watch him struggle.

Once more, he’s not going to give him what he wants.

Zane’s hands are shaky as he pulls the gun out, trembling hands around the grip. His fingers struggle with the safety lock and he grits his teeth.

Dr. Rhodes is one of the few people who actually manages to make him lose the proverbial cool that landed him the job – he has that going for himself, he should feel proud. It’s his way of getting under Zane’s skin.

He grits his teeth as the gun unlocks with a click. It’s a small sound, but Zane could swear it’s echoing.

Maybe it is, but only in his head.

He feels like he could spit his own heart out at any given moment. His head is light enough for him not to care. The boxes are a trench and he’s fighting a one-man battle against something unknown.

He turns around, rotating his legs enough to be on his knees, ready to lift himself up.

If he thinks this over, he’s just not going to do it. It’s going to be game over, in the meekest, most embarrassing way. And he’s not going to let it happen, not when Dr. Nightshroud is taunting him with that tacky song Dr. Rhodes would sing on repeat, for days, when he wasn’t blasting it in his headphones so loud that Zane could hear every muffled note and be forced to witness endearingly embarrassing lip-sync sessions on the job.

Something else clicks.

He lifts himself up, holding the gun tight. He probably doesn’t even have enough trigger discipline to shoot, but he’s not going down without a fight.

«Do you believe in life after love, Dr. Nightshroud? », he rasps at the silhouette in the dark, not even knowing if it’s a figment of his strained imagination or the real, tangible proof of their misdeeds.

He pulls the trigger and prays.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Dr. Rhodes is a Cher enthusiast and it stays even after the accident.  
> Credits for the Dr. Nightshroud concept go to @number_326 on Twitter! Go check their artwork (if you don't know them already) ;3 
> 
> You can find Dr. Nightshroud art here: https://twitter.com/i/events/1350657557350678528


End file.
